


Draw Me Like One Of Your Earth Girls

by fiveainley_ohmy



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Artist!Jim, Flirting, Fluff, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, So much flirting, meet cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 14:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18813097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiveainley_ohmy/pseuds/fiveainley_ohmy
Summary: Spock knows he’s in trouble when a silver tongued, dreamy eyed street artist convinces him to sit for him.





	Draw Me Like One Of Your Earth Girls

Spock has just gotten out of his last class of the day and is walking home. He is thankful it is summer in San Francisco. He doesn’t look forward to the crisp days of autumn that lie ahead.

“Excuse me!”

Spock pauses at the sound of a male voice. It’s unlikely they’re calling out to him, but—no, here comes a human man now, about his age, making a beeline for him.

“Hi,” says the human breathlessly as he comes near. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I saw you walk past my stand and I was struck by how gorgeous you are.”

Spock feels the tips of his ears grow warm. “Me?” he says in surprise.

“Oh yeah. Those cheekbones, and your _eyes_...” The human, a few inches shorter than Spock, stares up at him in a way that makes his heart beat faster in his side.

It’s not as though this human is homely himself. He has a very handsome face, a strong jaw and a full set of lips that when pulled into a smile were quite distracting. He has smooth, honey colored hair, otherwise neat if not for an unruly lock curling in front of his forehead. And his eyes are an unusual color, one not found in the Vulcanian population. Light brown with flecks of pale green and gold, framed by long lashes.

Spock clears his throat, forcing himself to calm down. Why _was_ his heart racing so? “You flatter me, sir,” he said.

“Please, call me Jim,” the human says with a disarming smile. “And believe me, I mean every word. If you weren’t wearing an Academy uniform, I’d swear you must be a professional model.”

“I...thank you,” Spock says, feeling dumbfounded.

“Please, let me draw you?” Jim entreats. “It’d be a privilege to put your face down on paper.”

It’s now that Spock notices the black smudges on the human’s fingers (it’s considered inappropriate and lecherous to stare at someone’s hands in his culture, but humans don’t typically care). “You are an artist,” he states.

“Well, ‘artist’ implies talent,” Jim laughs shyly. “People sit for me and pay me to draw their portrait. I don’t know if what I make is any good, but I certainly try my best. Anyway...would you allow me? It’d make my day.”

Spock finds himself unable to say no. He nods silently and Jim breaks into a luminous grin. “Thank you so much!” he gushes. “This way.”

There is an empty bench, and a folding stool with a pad of paper and a charcoal stick waiting on it across the walkway. “Please, sit,” says Jim. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t even catch your name.”

“I am Spock.”

“Spock,” repeats Jim. “Pretty. It suits you.”

Spock’s eyes dart shyly to his lap. “How would you like me to pose myself?”

“Any way you like. As long you can hold that position comfortably for a few minutes.”

Spock thinks for a second, then relaxes his body but straightens his spine, resting his wrists on his knees, like he does when he’s meditating. He focuses his gaze on a point over Jim’s right shoulder, making a neutral expression.

“Perfect,” says Jim, smiling as he lifts his charcoal to the page and begins sketching.

Holding perfectly still comes naturally to Spock. He is untempted to twitch or scratch like humans are wont to do. However, his gaze does drift over to Jim every now and then. The human concentrates hard as his stick moves across the paper. The small pink tip of his tongue pokes out, and Spock fights back an amused smile.

“I should have more Vulcans sit for me,” Jim says. “You’re like a statue. Of course, I’ll bet most Vulcans think art is frivolous, huh? Since there’s no logical purpose for it.”

“Untrue. Even beauty has a purpose.” Spock peers at Jim out of the corner of his eye. “Perhaps the Vulcans you meet believe it is a waste of time because it is _you_ who should be made into art.”

Jim pauses, his face going pink. He looks at Spock in shock over his pad. “Damn. Are _all_ Vulcans this good at flirting?”

“It is not flirting. It is merely fact.” Spock allows himself a victorious smirk.

“Yeah, uh huh. Okay. I’m just gonna...yeah...” Jim bashfully ducks behind his pad and starts drawing again.

It’s a peaceful day. People are walking past, their footsteps tapping against the brick path. The ducks are quacking softly in the pond. In the distance someone is selling soft pretzels. A dog pants happily as he and his master walk past. The warm breeze rustles Spock’s hair and caresses his cheeks. He wouldn’t have been able to enjoy this calm had he not stopped when Jim called his name.

10.3 minutes later, Jim says, “Done.”

“Already?” Spock replies, twisting toward him.

“You learn how to be fast when your customers get impatient with you. It’s tough for a perfectionist like me, but hey, you make do...you wanna see it?” Jim’s voice is suddenly soft, timid.

Spock nods. “Of course.”

Jim moves from his stool onto the bench next to Spock, and passes the drawing pad to him. “What do you think?”

Spock stares at his likeness for a few moments in silence, stunned. “You have made me far too good-looking,” he finally mumbles, a tiny smile forming on his lips.

Jim laughs. “It doesn’t do you justice,” he says, staring up into his eyes.

Spock blushes again. “How much?”

“Take it. It’s yours.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t accept this-”

“Hey, _I_ asked to draw _you_. You think Van Gogh asked the stars for a commission when he painted them?”

“Well...will you perhaps then allow me to buy you a beverage for your troubles?”

Jim looks at him with a coy smile. “Why, Mr. Spock, that sounds like a _date._ ”

“Is that alright?”

“Hmm...” Jim pretends to think about it. “I _suppose_...on the condition that you let me draw you again sometime. Maybe at my apartment where I can take my time.” Jim leans closer. “I want to get to know _every_ curve of your body, Spock. _Intimately_ ,” he purrs.

Spock shook his head. “You are incorrigible. I can see already that you are going to be trouble.”

“What can I say? I’ve found my new muse.” Jim winked.


End file.
